Those who expressed sentimentality over Shea's impending demise won a trip to sit inside its condemned walls for an hour this afternoon until postponement rendered the visit moot. Second prize was to sit there all day and all night.

Alas, rain, wind, generally glacial conditions and uncommon sense knocked off my first game at Shea for 2006 before it could materialize in earnest, though not before I spent $10 on a yearbook, $4 on a program, $5 on a slice of square high school cafeteria pizza, $4.50 on the worst French fries to ever bear the Nathan's imprimatur and $4.00 on a pretzel as cold as the weather itself.

Getting the bleep out of there before I caught the flu? Priceless.

It was supposed to be Kids Opening Day, which was appropriate because children who think they love the Mets better start learning right now what being a baseball fan entails. It ain't all sunshine, green grass and Guy Conti tossing you a souvenir. It's sitting outside on April afternoons disguised as January at dusk as much as it's anything. It'll still be that, incidentally, when Sheabbets Field opens in all its roofless grandeur. There'll be more places to take your money while you wait (and more of your money to take), but come 4/09 it will still be early and it will still be freezing and rain will still come down as wet as it did when Robert Moses decided to stick us all out in Queens.

The theme of the day was also appropriate in that I wrapped myself tight in an orange hoodie, anxiously eyeballed two unidentified Marlins loosening their fins down the left field line with a game of catch and wondered when I would get too old for sitting, shivering and hoping against hope that baseball would be played, no matter how steep the buckets that were coming down. Hasn't happened yet, so I guess it was Kids Opening Day for me, too.

Except they didn't hand me anything but a bill.

By jumping ugly (or Uggla) on the Florida Marlins early, late and often Friday night, the Mets secured their third win in their first four games.

You probably have no idea how rare that is. But thanks to Retrosheet, you're about to.

It's pretty rare.

2006 is the first season since 1998 that has started with at least a 3-1 record. If you had to think about that for a second, it figures. The eight-year drought is the longest since the first time the Mets broke out of the gate in .750 fashion.

That was 1971, only the second year in which the Mets won their first game. Successful launches weren't really a trademark around here, hence it took the Mets until their tenth season to score a 3-1. They beat that feat in 1973 (4-0), then didn't match it again 'til back-to-backing it in 1977-78. Next up: 1981 (twice; split season), followed by '82, '84, '85 (a gaudy 5-0, best ever), '87, '91, '94, '98 and now now.

Thirteen calendar years in 45 seasons. That's a little more than a quarter of the schedules commenced in high style...and 32 of them no better than .500, if that. Sounds like somebody owes us a few.

Does a good four-game start portend good things? Well, let's see...

1971: 83-79, T-3rd
1973: 82-79, 1st
1977: 64-98, 6th
1978: 66-96, 6th
1981(1): 17-34, 5th
1981(2): 24-28, 4th
1982: 65-97, 6th
1984: 90-72, 2nd
1985: 98-64, 2nd
1987: 92-70, 2nd
1991: 77-84, 5th
1994: 55-58, 3rd
1998: 88-74, 2nd
2006: 122-40, 1st*
*prorated

Our CBS News estimates based on exit polls aside, a 3-1 or better start hasn't guaranteed a title of any kind. In fact, five of our six postseason berths were secured after beginning 2-2. Only the '73 Mets took advantage of their opening burst to get to October. Amazingly, that was the club's highwater-mark for the year. They only climbed four games over .500 once more (12-8) and that includes their final W-L, which encompassed an unchampionlike 78-79 over the remaining 157. Amazingly amazing, indeed.

So four games do not a season make. But four games like those we've had to date make it good to be alive, don't they?

Aside from being Mets fans and dwelling on the shortcomings of Jorge Julio (because the fifth man in the bullpen should be your biggest worry), everything is beautiful. My shortstop's batting .368 and doing every damn thing right. My third baseman's a .500 hitter and never says anything wrong. The BallHawk in right is up to a teeth-chattering .563. Savior Nady will someday be in need of salvation (didn't Mientkiewicz soar early last year?), but by then, Floyd will have it together and Beltran will perfect his cap-tipping and Anderson Hernandez will add a second hit to his 2006 portfolio (collect 'em all).

T-E-A-M, folks. After four games, it's our four-letter word of choice.